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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807572">coffee's for closers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplymellifluous/pseuds/simplymellifluous'>simplymellifluous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>oneyplays, sleepycabin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>About Coffee, Aloof Flirting, But we're friends!!, Coffee, Comfort, Fluff, Light Romance, M/M, Mutual Pining, Or Is It?, Overthinking, Philosophical Pondering, Questioning, Slice of Life, ambiguous ending, and too many lines of thinking, like two lines of dialogue, sleepycabin 2014 era</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:33:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplymellifluous/pseuds/simplymellifluous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>zach is consistenly and terrifyingly delivering cups of coffee to chris every morning. chris overthinks every step, and every word. it is turmoil.</p><p>"i’m not joking either. it’s destroying my life. every fucking day, i reminisce on the past where we weren’t living together, and we weren’t in close quarters, not urging little acts of service on each other. i didn’t realize how much more comfortable it was to just type a “lol dude :3” instead of having to pass on a smile and a thank you. now it’s biting me in the ass, clawing at my brain like the caffeine in the cup."</p><p>((character study lookin-ass))</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zach Hadel/Chris O'Neill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>coffee's for closers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>zach keeps bringing me coffee. it’s becoming chaos.</p><p>i’m not joking either. it’s destroying my life. every fucking day, i reminisce on the past where we weren’t living together, and we weren’t in close quarters, not urging little acts of service on each other. i didn’t realize how much more comfortable it was to just type a “lol dude :3” instead of having to pass on a smile and a thank you. Now it’s biting me in the ass, clawing at my brain like the caffeine in the cup.</p><p>the first time he brought coffee to me, i thought it was a gag. a joke was common with zach. therefore, the cardboard holder around the too-thin, too-hot cup spelling out C-H-R-I-S was a joke too. i remember the look on his face --- this semi-excited, semi-worry grin painted on his pale features. he opened the door of our old house, closed it gently, slid his shoes off, and then walked over to me sitting at the counter and placed it down.</p><p>“some energy sips for the growing boy,” followed by a slightly quieter, wavering, “my treat.”</p><p>i laughed, firstly. it’s always been an instinct with him, but i then noticed it was a different sort of laugh than the ones shared over weird youtube videos i found or random world war II facts zach bursted out in the middle of a restaurant. it was a simple, comfortable giggle. the type your mom makes when your dad says something interesting. when he pushed it a smidge closer to me and met my eyes, i smiled with my teeth like a doofus and took a sip.</p><p>the coffee was normal. not anything surprising, the same odd tanginess, the flavor sticking in the back of your throat, <em>probably </em>not spiked (this was a wawa in a PA suburb so who knows). but what was different was how zach’s eyes didn’t move. they stuck on me. he watched me react to it like he wanted to hear about every note of the drink. and when he finally caught my confusion, his eyes slid off of me and he trotted away to do some work.</p><p>one cup turned into a second one with an equally colorful encounter (that time he regaled me with a story of the cashier), and then another, and another. dark with cream, but he always brought sugar packets just in case. when he learned that starbucks was more of my style, he switched his morning route, leaving a few minutes earlier than before. i offered to start reimbursing him after the fourth drink, but he insisted with it, almost admonishing me for even asking it. niall made jokes about zach leaving every morning like a soccer mom. cory poked fun at the amount of trash piling up.</p><p>that was about five months ago. now, thousands of lingering gazes and 150 cups later, i lay at an impasse. this whole week i’ve been sick with the flu, and sad about not getting my work done; i want to be constantly this amazingly efficient and creative and amazing animator, but i always feel like there’s some weird block stopping me. of course, it manifests as a respiratory plague this week. so i lay on this mattress atop this bunk bed that is about seven inches away from hitting the ceiling, and i am left with my thoughts as i haven’t received a coffee cup yet.</p><p>do i like him doing this? well, yeah, it’s a free coffee every morning. what’s a more useful gift from a friend? but it badgers me: <em>why am i worried about</em>  him doing this? of course zach is my friend. i’d say he’s my absolute best friend, honestly. but...is it all not a bit strange? is something not <em> awry </em> in the way he trains his eyes on me? the way he’s dead set on giving me this everyday?</p><p>the way i accept it with a wide smile every time?</p><p>zach nearly kicks down my door. it scares me out of my thoughts so hard that i almost break my head through the ceiling, and he giggles at me. it’s high-pitched and uncomfortably adorable, the motherfucker. he’s in a bummy navy sweatshirt from magfest, holding what seems to be a cappuccino with some sort of caramel-y syrup on the top, and goes up two ladder steps to hand it to me. i roll on my side.</p><p>“good morning U-S-A, I’ve gotta a feeling that dududh a wonderful day, the sun in the sky has…” he doesn’t know the song at all. it makes me laugh, but i can’t entirely push the thoughts out of my head when his alien-like porcelain fingers meet mine, handing the cup to me. his hands are cold. an intrusive thought tells me to ask him under the blanket.</p><p>“good morning, you’re awfully--” i cough and continue, “awfully peppy for some random tuesday.” he glances back at me, his chin barely over the top of the ladder, and shakes his head.</p><p>“chris, you’re so cringe, i can’t believe this.”</p><p>“what? why?”</p><p>“you’re really gonna play world smile day like some fucking <em> random tuesday?” </em> i wasn’t even aware this was a thing, but apparently it’s the most important holiday ever to zach. it catches me off guard.</p><p>“world smile day?”</p><p>“absolutely. hey, all of these coffees had to pile up to be <em> something. </em>what better day than world smile day?”</p><p>the way he glances at the glaring topic bothers me. does he share my feeling of it being weird? “is world coffee day not a thing?” </p><p>“probably,” he drawls, “but me getting you coffee isn’t just about the drink, y’know? smile day is more apt. more of my agenda.” he moves down the bunk bed ladder, and looks back up at me staring confusedly at him. i guess he doesn’t notice, because he signs off with a, “get better soon, dude!” and closes the door behind him.</p><p>fuck. i roll back onto my back and drag two coughs out of my lungs, sipping bitterly on the drink. why is he like this? why am <em>i</em> like this? i let my mind dwell on what it is in the simplest terms: just a bro getting a drink for another bro. but it’s every morning, rain or shine, always with some cute anecdote, and, from his own admittance, with the intention to make me smile. maybe i’m being dumb and overthinking this fully. i’m sure if mick just randomly started getting me a sandwich every afternoon, it would cost me no sleep. but it’s zach.</p><p>maybe he’s just doing it as a weird experiment. “hey, let me bother my closest friend for months on end with constant presents, that’ll prove something.” am i supposed to call him out on it? supposed to ask him what’s the deal and complicate everything even further? <em>complicated. </em> it’s not at all. he’s giving me presents. perhaps <em>i</em> am so confused over this because i haven’t even gotten him anything in return. i think about reaching down to my nightstand to grab my phone so i can scroll through amazon for a gift for him, but my hands still.</p><p><em> maybe </em> my payment is letting him do this. he revels in the way i grin at him because he wants me to <em> be </em> happy <em> because </em>of him. that’s why his fingers touch, and that’s why it’s every morning, always thrilled to see me. it’s why his eyes stay on mine, waiting to see that glimpse of success done by him.</p><p>so it’s a game, i guess. an emotions game of chicken. is he waiting for me to point it out? i obviously won’t, because that’s fucking weird. but the buildup in my stomach everyday since is even weirder. it stings for him to have this strange wall of secrecy surrounding a remedial act between us; i talk to him about everything <em> but </em>this. sure, i don’t indulge him on every detail, not about the amount of times i look through the photos with us together (the one where that dumb sweater is over his shoulders like a jock) or the way i often wake up a bit early to see him get out of the shower and peep at him getting ready (i only peeped once. on accident. i promise.)</p><p>these thoughts do raise a question inside me though, splayed on this bunk. why does this grab at me so tightly? why does the manner he slides his shoes off, or the way he remembers what arbitrary holiday it is, or the style and origin of one of his sweatshirts stick onto my brain? and why does my heart decide to thrum against my chest when he’s just handing over a cup? and how does my brain turn this all into such an elaborate conspiracy theory? what does it mean? i know what it <em> means, </em> but i don’t want it to be like this. he’s my <em> friend. </em></p><p>it’s evil. malicious. i hate it. i want to kiss him, but i can’t. i take another bitter, complexly distressed, and lightly enamored sip.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey everybody!! tryna crank more work out, just had a rough first few months at school, but writing really evens me out. i don't really think i had an intention behind writing this, the idea of it kinda just plopped into my head and i cranked it out, but it's my first lil stab at their dynamic. </p><p>i'm actually currently working on an outline on a BIG WORK for a whole oneypebbles thing!! if the story ever leaves my outline document on google drive, it's gonna take soo long, but it's basically a lil historical fiction rewrite of the boys but if they were gay for each other the whole time. i know, very groundbreaking stuff, but i think this fic is just a little branch off of it all. a lil story inside a story leading to a story.</p><p>hope everyone is stayin safe stayin healthy and has a good october!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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